Distance And Remedy
by OrangeLovePerson
Summary: While being apart during the year following the war, Ron and Hermione manage to spend some time together, still. Fluffy lemon, complete. :)
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note:_

 _Okay, first off: I obviously don't own the Harry Potter-Universe or its characters, but you already know that._

 _Then: This story contains some **sexual scenes** and **strong language**.  
_

 _It's also the first time I ever wrote something with mature content, I would be really interested in your opinion on it! :)  
_

* * *

 **Distance And Remedy**

 _(Part 1)_

* * *

She lay on her stomach, staring down into an Arithmetic lexicon, her feet dangling in the air behind her.

It was hot out here, the dry grass beneath her robes looked scratchy and pale, and the glistening sunshine felt like a way too hot, all wind consuming hair-dryer on her skin.

* * *

(She once had tried to explain to Ron the exact mechanism of Muggle hair-dryers, but couldn't really.

He'd been so amazed when she showed him one at her place, once, last summer...- She had almost considered to buy him one himself at the time, just for the fun of it.

But there was already so much Muggle stuff in his father's many cupboards... and on shelves and in piled boxes and drawers and jars and flowerpots, basically everywhere at the Burrow...!

So, Hermione decided against it. Mrs Weasley thought that there were far too many Muggle things laying or standing around, as it was.)

* * *

Anyway; right now, every inch of Hermione's body was warm to a point that almost didn't feel good any more, but not exactly uncomfortable, either. It was a welcome change, even, after the months of grey skies everyone had endured, lately.

Mostly, she liked it here in that heat, because it was a distinct sign of summer.

Sure, it was only the end of May, so far, and yes, tomorrow or next week or sometime after that, there would be rain again. But there had been a week of real sunshine, a week of summer, already, and that was a good thing to know.

It made her feel like there was not as much time, now, until the term was over. Until there would be the holidays.

Hermione Granger had never been someone to crave holidays, though. She'd always been someone who craved school. Even before Hogwarts, when she was a child, she'd spend her weekends and evenings _happily_ learning. She loved to feel proud about herself, she loved to get better at things and to reach her aims. She had not loved the way some of the other kids looked at her, back then, laughed at her, avoided her. She'd always felt different around them, as if she didn't belong anywhere, really. But she did love school, still, because she had clearly assigned priorities.

Then, she'd found out about Hogwarts, and magic; she'd met her two best friends, and encountered tons of adventures with them (let alone fought in a war next to them!), and over time, her priorities had changed more and more and more...- and now, Hermione Granger was someone who craved not the school, but who craved the holidays.

More. Than. Anything.

And it was all about _him,_ once again.

Everything deep down in her very core was murmuring her favourite word. _Ron_. Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron...

In less than two months, she would see him again, would live with him, would share a bed with him...

She would move in with Harry and Ron, in Grimmauld Place, as they'd asked her to do when she visited them over Christmas. The prospect of Ron's warm, strong, freckled arms engulfing her every single night was plainly to amazing to ignore, and the further the school year without him went on, the more she missed his comforting presence in her life. It didn't really feel like _her_ life any more, without him in it..

She missed Harry, too, obviously. A lot. But missing Harry had never been nearly the same thing as missing Ron, really. Missing Harry was like missing a real friend, a part of your family...

Missing Ron was missing home.

The letters did help. So did the Hogsmeade visits, obviously, that gave her the rare opportunity to see him, to touch him, to snog him senseless,... and, well, everything in-between and beyond these things.

Hermione could feel herself get a little flushed, at the prospect of all her plans for the next visit...

* * *

He was running.

Running, running, running, - along stony ground, jumping over obstacles and tree trunks, avoiding holes in his path and constantly keeping an eye open for something unexpected to cross his way, - something unusual lurking behind the next tree, the next corner, to attack him, to bring him down.

But he was better than the last time. After another thirty minutes, a loud whistle rang out, and Ron came to a halt in the midst of the forest.

"Good job, Weasley!", the team leader said, as he stepped towards Ron from between a few nearby trees. Mr. Daltonson was a burly, blonde guy with slightly coadunated eyebrows, and right now, there was a satisfied expression on his features. "You're getting better each week!"

"Thanks", panted Ron, out of breath and sweaty from head to toe, but pleased none the less. He surely could imagine one or two ways he'd rather spend a stifling hot afternoon like this one, but endurance training was important for his education as an Auror.

"We'll see how well you will do tomorrow, when I'll enlarge the training area another few miles! Well done!"

Ron grinned before concentrating on his aim, and disapparated right into the men's locker room at the Ministry of Magic.

"How's it been?", Harry asked, sitting on one of the blue metal benches and drying his wet hair off with a towel. He was already wearing Muggle clothes, ready to go home any minute.

"Cool!", Ron answered, letting his rucksack drop to another bench and reaching into it, to pull his locker's key out. "There was a Grindeloh today, but apart from that, not much happened. I think Daltonson likes me, you know? What about you?"

Harry shrugged, his lips turning up into an almost smug smile. "Just a Dementor for me today."

Ron laughed. "Well, not much of a challenge for you, now, was it?"

"I think he's trying to give us a false sense of security.", Harry commented, wisely. "So that we are less prepared for the more unexpected things. Would be a good lesson, wouldn't it? He could show us the importance of being attentive at all times, that way."

"Yeah, right, because the war hasn't proved that already...", Ron muttered, before clearing his throat. "Anyway, I think I'll shower here, too, if you don't mind. If I would go home straight away, I'd immediately fall asleep on the coach."

Harry shrugged, grinning. "Alright, see you later. I'll probably order something for dinner, yeah?"

Ron nodded, beaming at the prospect of food, after such a long time in the heat. "Please do. "

Harry had already left the locker room, when Ron heard him entering it once again. He looked up and saw his best mate having a rummage for something in his rucksack. "I almost forgot! Today, when you were already in the morning shift, Pig arrived! I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn't see you as much today, did I?"

Harry finally pulled an envelope out from the bag, and Ron grabbed it, as soon as he discovered her handwriting on the parchment. Well, probably sooner, even. He really couldn't deal with anticipation any more, these days, at least when it came to her. There was already more than enough baring their way, as it was. Only two more months, though. Less than two months. One month and some weeks. Two and a half weeks. All in all six and a half weeks. 46 days, only...

He heard himself distantly mutter a quiet "thanks" to Harry, who disappeared again and let Ron have his privacy. Which was a good thing, really, because recently, Hermione's letters had been slightly... different … than they had used to be. Which was awesome, as well as a delicious kind of torture.

He ripped the envelope apart in a hurry, but as soon as he'd freed the letter itself from it's cave, he unfolded the paper with noticeable gentleness. He didn't want to damage what she had send him. It seemed incredible important to be careful with the paper. It had always felt like that. He sat down on one of the blue benches and took her words in.

* * *

 _Dear Ron._

 _How is the endurance training going? I hope you're not totally bruised in this instant. Seriously, please be careful. Not, that I doubt that you are doing an amazing job, but please go to bed early enough to keep your focus all the time, and drink enough water and always apply sunscreen on days like this one, okay?_

 _Do I sound like your mother right now? Well, if I do, I'm sorry, but I'm not always sure you and Harry are reminding each other on stuff like that._

 _But, seriously Ron, I am not doubting that you two are awesome in what you are doing._

 _Anyway, today, someone from the Hufflepuff's team threw his broom right into the Whomping Willow's branches during their Quidditch training. I don't know how he did it, it wasn't even that windy outside, but he was crying during dinner. Really sad, I guess it was a fourth-grader. I told him about the time when that happened to Harry, and I think he didn't feel quite as horrible about the whole thing, afterwards._

 _Hagrid started to grow exploding pumpkins in his garden. He says if you treated them with the right amount of care, they were not exploding until you cook them, and that that would taste incredible later. I honestly don't see the difference to normal pumpkins, up to this point, which might be a good sign. (Did you expect Hagrid to have such an interest in cooking, at all? I didn't!)_

 _Meanwhile, I'm also pretty busy, obviously. Do you remember that incredible herbology dictionary I told you about? I didn't find it in the library, the other day! Neville also didn't find it, I really hope the person who borrowed it will return it soon. It could be so useful for our NEWTs!_

 _I know I always say this, but, I miss you. I really really miss you, Ron. I miss you at dinner, in the common room, when I'm studying or when I'm in the library... It's ridiculous to miss you so much, I should already be used to this situation. I mean, it's been almost ten months by now. But I still miss you so, so much, Ron. I can't wait for the holidays to come._

 _I'll think of you again, tonight._

 _Love, always,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

There it was again. One of these weirdly ambiguous sentences that made Ron's ears burn and his head swim.

 _"I'll think of you again, tonight.",_ she'd said, as if that was a totally normal thing to tell him, and not the sexiest sentence she could possibly write down. Okay, so perhaps not _the_ sexiest... There were other things Ron could imagine that would be even better,- more specific things, that would not only have him praying that she meant those words the way he wanted her to mean them, but which would undoubtedly express her desire for him...

Ron thought back to last summer, when grief and trauma had mingled with devotion and lust, and the incredibly clear comprehension that he wouldn't stop loving her until his dying day, really.

There had to be many people out there who didn't end up with such a person in the long run, and who could find new people and new love throughout their life. But it was different with him, different with them.

He once had feared that, if he got together with his best friend, and if things then wouldn't go well, he would lose _such_ an important part of his life... He knew that he might not be able to be her friend, ever again, if things went badly...

He hadn't been sure whether it was worth the risk. Whether the mere chance of her feeling more for him than friendship was worth enough to risk said friendship...

How ridiculous he'd been.

Had he ever really believed, that there was another path for the two of them than the one they'd chosen? Had he ever thought he would survive to watch her marry someone else, maybe, while wondering whether he, too, might have had a chance, during another lifetime? He had spent years trying to talk himself out of the things he so overwhelmingly obvious felt for her, and now, that everything was out in the open, and that she reciprocated these emotions...

Everything was different.

It was more than the war, it was more than life had ever taken from him, it was more than the locket and more than every single fucked-up self-conscious thought that thing had fed from. How was he supposed to feel absolutely terrible and utterly alone, ever again, while being loved by Hermione Granger?

Hearing her say those words, last summer, seeing her look at him like that, with her guard down and her heart so wide open to him, and only him... It had been everything.

And he had seen so much of her, last summer...

So much skin, soft and warm underneath his heated fingertips and eager mouth; deep brown chocolate eyes, way too beautiful to stare at them for a shorter time than he now finally dared; smooth nails, darting into his biceps or back in pleasure, while her lips formed the tiniest, prettiest moan and while her curly mess of hair flew around her face in well-known perfection...

"Fuck.", Ron muttered, under his breath, ripping his sweaty clothes off in the empty shower room and stepping inside a cubicle. It didn't take long for him to get completely lost in the images of his girlfriend...

* * *

Hermione woke up with a start. Some light was reaching her beneath the seam of her bed's curtain, the break of dawn creeping in. And all she could think about was him, suddenly.

It was the first thing that came to mind each morning; how much rather she'd wake up next to Ron. In his dusty, way too orange bedroom at the Burrow, or in the newly wallpapered room he slept in at Grimmauld Place, - a home she'd yet to see. No matter where, she wanted to share a bed with him again, and once she would, she would enjoy every minute of it; every touch; every single time he murmured something against her neck in this incredibly sensual way of his...

Hermione sighed soundlessly, and sank back into her pillows, then. Thoughts about Ron still consuming her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Distance And Remedy**

 _(Part 2)_

* * *

Minerva McGonagall didn't enjoy her monthly trips to the Ministry of Magic in the slightest. Actually, she couldn't imagine a more unpleasant place to go.

It wasn't for the fact that she were not enjoying her conversations with Kingsley Shacklebolt,- a man who had proved to be the right choice for a powerful position in the Ministry, and who had always been a voice of reason against those who tried to take away Hogwarts' independence ever since.

But whenever she went out to see Kingsley, to discuss the latest developments and projects at Hogwarts, there were journalists surrounding her in the matter of seconds.

At first, during her early weeks as a headmistress, there had been many of them; people who wanted to talk about her plans for the school's future, her ideas for alterations and new subjects, her personal opinion on other teachers and on potentially dangerous minorities such as werewolves. Some of these journalists had been decent, politely interested people; others had seemed eager to provoke her in peculiar ways.

And then, when all the dust had setted, and all those other interviewers had left, there had been one woman who stayed behind: Rita Skeeter.

That rude, manipulative person was still following Minerva's every step, whenever she went to speak to the Minister. Rita wanted to embarrass Professor McGonagall, the way she had wanted to embarrass Dumbledore for so long. Skeeter asked about personal and intimate matters in the woman's life, as if she was getting paid for it,- which she apparently was; - she was insulting the headmistress and her ideas, she even publicly questioned McGonagall's attempts to fight against Tom Riddle throughout the last years. It was obvious that Rita Skeeter's career as a journalist had passed its luckiest times, but she was still popular enough to spread her hatred among the newspapers, now and then.

As Minerva went to see Kingsley that Saturday morning in May, she felt almost optimistic of being able to avoid that Skeeter-woman this one time.

She had left school in the earliest morning hours, when Hogsmeade had still been a quiet little spot and when not even owls had grazed the sky to bring their owners' letters and magazines. Professor McGonagall knew about the dangers of being seen when out of school, since Rita had a few acquaintances in Hogsmeade and London. There were people who liked Rita's articles enough to send their Patronus out, as soon as they saw the lady head for the Ministry.

Minerva McGonagall was not someone to mess with, though. She was determined to keep her informations to herself and to not let an idiot's published nonsense bother her.

Still, when she discovered Rita Skeeter cowering behind a cupboard in one of the Ministry's more secluded corridors, she almost found herself cursing her.

"What a ridiculous behaviour from a grown-up woman!", she muttered, as Rita stepped out of her "hiding place" and right into McGonagall's way.

"Well, hello, Professor! What a coincidence to meet you here, and then on a lovely morning like this one!", Rita commented, widely and fakely grinning at the headmistress beneath the edge of her prominently framed glasses. "How about I join you in your walk for a while, you surely were about to see the Minister? You do see him quite often, recently, is there something important you would like to discuss with the Daily Prophet's readers, as well?"

"No, and no, thank you. I would prefer to walk alone, if you please.", McGonagall answered, annoyed. Rita shook her head, feigning sympathy. "My, my, Professor, why so unhappy? Is the burden of such an important position too much, already? Would you prefer to change your career choices in hindsight, trade yours for a job with less responsibility, thinking of your high age?"

She obviously wanted to be provocative, once again, but McGonagall didn't have any of that. She just rolled her eyes and kept on walking, soon enough to be followed by Rita, again.

"So, a thing many of my readers are still wondering about, and a topic you kept noticeably quiet about in the past, is your exact relationship to your predecessor Albus Dumbledore, - a man known for his many supporters and feared for his many unreasonable decisions. Would you say that there was a form of romance motivating you to spend your life at Hogwarts for so long? Was the bond you shared with Hogwarts' former headmaster what inspired him to open many doors for you in your career? Was the attraction you both...-"

"Professor?", rang a puzzled, familiar voice along the corridor, in that instant, and McGonagall turned away from the bothersome journalist she tried to ignore, to find herself a few feet away from one of her erstwhile students.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Hello,- I mean, good morning, Professor.", Ron greeted her, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of Rita Skeeter. The headmistress felt rather fond of him at that. "What, er, are you doing here, Professor? This hallway was actually contaminated with a few itching powder bombs, yesterday, - some kind of joke, it turned out to be harmless,- but it's still not entirely clean again, haven't you seen the signs at the door?"

"I did, in fact, Mr. Weasley", McGonagall answered, reasonably, "But since I'm not about to touch any of the walls, I think I should be save. I've had my share of experiences with these kinds of jokes, already, thanks to your brothers." She tried to sound severe at this, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and she also found herself feel a little ache at the thought of the once-so-inseparable Weasley-twins.

"Also, I wanted to take a less crowded way to the Minister's bureau.", she explained, her gaze shifting angrily to the spot at her side, where Rita Skeeter stood and was examining the observable scene,- with interest, and an already busily scribbling, flying quill.

"We already know each other, of course.", Rita said, winking at Ron and smiling like someone meeting an old friend.

"So, as an ex-student of Hogwarts, how well would you describe Professor McGonagall's teaching skills on a scale from one to ten?"

"Your ticket isn't valid in this part of the Ministry.", Ron noticed, looking at Skeeter's sticker and ignoring her question. "As a mere "visitor of the wising well", you're not allowed to go past the entrance hall, technically."

"Says who?", snarled Rita, grinning fakely, once again.

"Me.", Ron answered, matter-of-factly, reaching into his pocket and pulling his Auror-trainee-market out of it. "I'm already allowed to kick troublemakers out of here, Miss Skeeter, especially when I feel like they're bothering important authorities with their behaviour." He nodded towards his former teacher at that, who couldn't quite believe how much Ron Weasley had grown up, over time.

Every whiff of a smile had left Rita's face, by now. "Oh, you truly are just like your silly little friend, now, aren't you? What she doesn't get is that people have a right of information! I'm...-"

"You are leaving now.", Ron told her, calmly but set, and Rita huffed, as she walked away, her flying quill following her every step. When she was gone, McGonagall smiled appreciatively. "Well, now, Mr. Weasley, that certainly was impressive, thank you very much."

Ron's ears went pretty red, at that. "You're welcome, Professor."

He was still unusually early for his training shift, so Ron accompanied her to Kingsley's office. He told her about his Auror training and about his new life at Grimmauld Place with Mr. Potter, and afterwards, he reached into his pocket to give her a special map of the Ministry, one where many of the less known shortcuts were to be seen. It also showed, where an apparation was possible and where not. At that, Professor McGonagall noticed something else.

"Mr. Weasley! You are carrying a copy of "Hogwarts – A history" in your pocket?", she asked, with interest. "Here at the Ministry?"

Ron's ears were slightly burning, again. "Er, well, yes... It's from Hermione. It's just.. she's really far away, and I always feel better when I have something of her with me, you see? And, well, this book means a lot to her, so I started reading it, lately. It's her favourite book, so..."

Ron shrugged, assuming to have said a little more than necessary, right now, but for some reason, McGonagall's expression was really soft and warm, when he looked up.

It was such an unusual sight on her face, that he actually thought he might have only imagined it, a moment later.

* * *

As Hogwarts' headmistress sat at her desk, that evening, there was a knock at the door, and the school's headgirl asked for a minute of the Professor's time.

"Oh, Miss Granger, how lovely to see you. Do you need help with anything?", McGonagall asked, as she put her glasses down and looked up from her many parchments. It wasn't the first time that Hermione had visited her in her office. That girl really cared about doing a good job for the school.

"Well, actually, Professor", Hermione stuttered, seeming a little blushed, "I was hoping that I might be able to help you, this once..."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, as Hermione sat down on the other side of the desk. "You see", she continued, "Ron told me about your encounter with Rita Skeeter, this morning, and I thought you might be interested in knowing how I managed to keep her off of my back, a few years ago."

Now, the teacher was curious. "Of course, that might be helpful, Miss Granger."

Hermione took a breath. "But, before I do, please notice that that woman was downright horrible to many people, and that she basically didn't leave me with many other options..."

At that, the teacher was _really_ curious. "Alright, Miss Granger, tell me what you did, please.", she offered, patiently.

And that Hermione did. She told her how much nonsense Rita used to write, and how meanly she had influenced everyone's most private concerns, and then, she told Professor McGonagall about Rita Skeeter's secret, and how she, Hermione, - the perfect headgirl and model student, - had blackmailed someone for months on end.

"So, that's it.", Hermione finally concluded, looking slightly ashamed, but also defensive of what she had done. "She didn't want everyone to find out about her being an Animagus, of course, so she didn't get into my way, afterwards, at least not nearly as much as before. And I know, it was not right for me to act like that, but I also didn't want her to end up in Askaban because of me... Hagrid and Sirius had told us about how horrible things are there, and I also had not forgotten all the creepy Dementors, myself... So, I felt like it was the right thing to do, threatening Rita Skeeter. And, well, I honestly still do", Hermione added, blushing again and looking slightly afraid at this. "So, if you don't want that woman to bother you any more, Professor... One letter from me would end those interviews."

She kept quiet, silently looking down her lap, afterwards, while Professor McGonagall was still watching her in wonder.

Finally she said: "That would be very nice of you, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up, astounded. "R-really?"

The headmistress nodded. "I would be very grateful if you could help me with this situation, and I also believe that you did the right thing."

Hermione looked utterly relieved, and smiled. "Thank you, Professor, that means a lot to me. Then I will write to her and remind her of the whole thing." She stood up and was almost by the door, when McGonagall called for her again.

"Miss Granger?", she asked.

"Yes, Professor?"

"When is the next Hogsmeade trip, again?"

Hermione looked surprised. "It's on Friday, the 5th of July, shortly before the holidays start. Why do you ask?"

McGonagall sorted some papers, absentmindedly. "Well, Miss Granger, since you and Mr. Weasley are so eager to help me with _my_ personal problems, and since you proved to be such an exemplary headgirl, these past few months... How would you feel if I offered you another Hogsmeade trip, this weekend? Mr. Weasley surely seems to think really highly of you, Miss Granger, and I know that last year has been difficult for a lot of people, - for you, certainly, as well..."

"Yes, please! - I mean, that would be wonderful, Professor, if you really would allow that, I mean-..."

"Alright, then it's settled.", McGonagall nodded, putting her glasses back on and focusing her gaze back on the parchments in front of her. "Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night, Professor!", Hermione breathed, flushed in the cheeks. "And – Thank you!"

McGonagall nodded, distractedly. And then the door closed, and she couldn't help but to smile.

Oh, being young and freshly in love, one more time, how that must feel. Minerva would have loved to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Distance And Remedy**

 _(Part 3)_

* * *

It didn't take long for her to see him.

His hair was a beacon of orange-coloured Weasley-ness, his tall form noticeable from afar. He had grown, though, hadn't he? He always did. Every single time Hermione had been away from him for a while, so far,- including his horribly dark absence in the woods, last year,- Ron had been slightly taller, afterwards.

He also looked different in other ways. His freckles,- pale and few, the last time, they had met, on his birthday, - were almost as bright and orange as his hair was, by now, and in the warm sunshine they grazed his skin like stars graze the sky in the midst of the milky way. He was more muscular, too, an automatic reaction of his body to the efforts of Auror training. His smile was wide and happy, his eyes blue beneath pale lashes, and so, so soft. All in all, he was perfect. As always.

He opened his arms as she walked through the gate, awaiting her at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and getting closer to her in large steps. At one point, she started running, and then he was there, crushing her against his chest and into a hug so tight she could not breathe for a moment and not give a care in the world. He lifted her up until her tiptoes left the floor, and until he almost didn't have to bow down any more at all, to kiss her.

But he didn't.

No, they wouldn't kiss, just yet; not, until the wonderful assurance that they were together again had sunken into their brains, entirely.

Not, until she couldn't smell anything but him, any more, and until his breathing and his heartbeat and the rustling of his clothes against hers were the most prominent sounds in her head. And then, just before she was about to lean away again, to finally meet his mouth with hers, he pulled her closer again and chuckled, warm breath reaching the shell of her ear in deliciously shiver-filled bliss.

"Not yet."

She laughed, quietly breathing against his neck.

"Ron. It's been about three minutes already, since we're here..."

"Say that again."

" It's been about three...-"

"No, the first part."

"Ron?"

"M-hm. Again, please."

"Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron,..."

"What's so funny about my name?", he asked, as she giggled.

"Did you know that you're my favourite word, Ron?"

"Oh, am I, now?"

"Absolutely. What's yours?"

He laughed. "Guess."

And then, he suddenly _had_ leaned back, and he _was_ kissing her. And there were no words in her head to describe that kiss, but then again, her head generally felt quite empty when he kissed her. One hand pressed her waist to his upper body, still, holding her up to lessen the distance between them. The other one was warmly settled against her cheek, his thumb grazing her skin in tender circles. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, then, opening her mouth, gaining enough access to touch her own tongue, and suddenly, Hermione wanted so much more than this. There had been too much time between them. She couldn't wait another hour to have him all to herself.

She pulled back, sinking down to stand on her own feet, again, his chest still pressing against her body and her skin still tingling wherever his hands had touched her. Looking up into his dazed, warm gaze, she found herself getting more and more determined to reach privacy.

"Okay, so I know we wanted to go some place and eat something, first, but don't you think we could also...-

"Go to my hotel room straight away? Sure!", he grinned, pulling her even closer at this. Hermione blinked at him, slightly astonished.

"I might have prepared a picnic basket..", Ron explained with a shrug, and his ears turned so adorably rosy at that, that she couldn't help but to pull him down for another few kisses.

* * *

The room wasn't perfect. The sheets were slightly scratchy and the curtains rather ugly. Hermione didn't seem to feel irritated with these things at all, though. She just sat there, on the pale green, scratchily perfect sheets, one leg on either side of his lap, facing him. They were snogging, again, his hand slowly crawling under the hem of her jeans, grabbing her butt and pulling her even closer towards his increasingly obvious need for her. Now and then, he was grinding himself slightly upwards, his hips pressing against hers, and then the pleasure was almost too much to stay sane, but not too much to not try it again, thirty seconds later. And now and then, she'd push her chest closer to his, her breasts bumping against his muscles, soft and firm at once. They were still wearing all of their clothes, but it wasn't even as if that had hindered them from anything in the past. No, actually, some of his favourite memories of their time together did arise that way...

"Oh, Ron...", she moaned, then, quietly sighing against his ear lobe, and he knew that this wasn't one of the days where they'd leave their clothes on. No, he needed this, everything he could possibly get from her, every touch, every kiss, every inch of Hermione he could take.

"Bloody fucking hell", he murmured, as his fingers had crawled down the front of her blouse and were opening the buttons, one at a time. He kissed her neck, greedily seeking more, and she tilted her head back a little, eyelids fluttering shut...

"I love you, Hermione.", he told her then, because he hadn't so far, today, and it was the most important thing about this, wasn't it?

She hummed happily as he continued to softly bite her neck, leaving one or two small bruises on his way. "I love you, too, Ron. So, so much."

"About these things you are writing, in your letters..." he started, then, having finally freed her from her blouse, "How do you mean them?"

"What kind of things?", she asked, while her fingers pulled his shirt over his head and stroked the newly uncovered skin with warm, admiring palms. Ron could hear the humour in her voice.

"Well, things like: "You make me feel so excited sometimes, Ron.", or "You don't know what you do to me" or "I'll think of you again tonight"... How do you mean them, Hermione?"

She stood up from his lap, at this, and for a second he feared to have said or done something wrong, old insecurities still sometimes breaking through the surface, even (or especially) when it came to her. But she was merely opening her jeans button, pulling the sipper down, and then letting the material glide down her soft legs... Her panties matched her purple bra, reminding him of that dress she wore at his brother's wedding, and when she sat down, back on top of him, he could almost feel her wetness for him through the thin layers of fabric still separating them. And she was so, so beautiful and...

"Ron?", she asked then, concern in her voice. "Are you okay?"

He snorted, disbelievingly, but stroked her thighs with gentle, rough palms, nonetheless. He'd struggled to keep breathing normally, for a moment.

"How do you mean these things in your letters, Hermione?", he muttered, a few minutes later, wanting to continue their conversation from earlier, from before his nakedness-induced little shock.

"How do you think I mean them?", she asked, lips grazing his jawline with light open-mouthed kisses.

"I really don't know, seriously. You're probably just joking, aren't you?", Ron asked, begging for his voice to not sound as frustrated as he suddenly felt.

She heard it, anyway. She knew him way too well...

"What do you mean?", she asked, concern visible on her features, as she pulled back to watch him closely. Ron sighed.

"Okay, so I know that it seems kind of funny to write these ambiguous things, you know, to make me wonder how you intended them to sound, but... I mean, in the end, I know that you don't mean them the way I want to interpret them, and that's kind of sad, always. I mean, Hermione, do you have the slightest idea how much I want you, some days? And, well, if you tell me that stuff, it kind of gets worse, and ...-"

"I don't want it to get worse. I mean, I do, but, not like...-", she said, quietly shaking her head and eyeing him in honest bafflement. "Ron... just to get this straight; I love you."

"I know.", he muttered, stroking her naked waist.

"No, Ron, I mean I _love_ you. I really, really, love you. And I don't get why, after all these times we were together,.. like this.. you still think that I wouldn't want you the way you want me..."

She drove her hands upwards on his body, stroking everything from his lowest ribs to his shoulder blades, all the while holding his gaze with her deep, warm eyes.

"I know that you... want me...", Ron murmured, and even in his momentarily insecure state it felt amazing to say these words. "It's just..."

"You don't think that our separation feels as bad for me as it does for you?", she offered, and Ron nodded, amazed that she'd figured his awkward thoughts out before he, himself had.

"Well, then, why don't you ask me again?", she whispered, smiling, and this time, Ron couldn't look away from her gaze...

"How do you mean these things in your letters, Hermione?", he asked, huskily; and her fingers grazed his cheeks' light stubble, as she grinned.

"I want you, Ron."

"Generally speaking, or...?" She laughed, hitting him playfully on the chest. But he caught her hand and kissed it lightly..

"Actually, yes.", she said, then, "I really want you all the damn time, Ron. I want you, and I need you, and..-"

"What do you need me to do, then?", he moaned, but before she could even decide for an answer, other questions came to mind. "Are you really thinking of me, at night? What do you... I mean, do you..-"

"Yes, I'm really thinking of you each night, Ron.", she answered, softly tangling her fingers in his hair.

" _Each_ night?!"

"Yes, Ron. Every single night."

"And when you do... Do you..-"

"Mostly, yeah.", she murmured, grinning shyly, and Ron could see a warm blush creep up her cheeks.

"Bloody hell."

Then, suddenly, she almost looked annoyed at him."Ron, we've been sleeping with each other quite often, before, and I'm crazy about you, of course I'm having some fantasies about you when you're so far away, what did you expect?"

He laughed, pulling her closer again, her breasts slightly moving with the motion. "I don't know, really..."

He leaned in, then, kissing her deeply and trying to get even closer, her mouth so sweet and eager against his.. He blinked at her dizzily, when he pulled back.

"So, you think of me and then you... touch yourself?"

"M-hm.", she answered, sounding slightly out of breath from their kiss and the new proximity.

"Like this?", he asked, his voice low, and his hand crept down to the inside of her panties, ever so gently, knuckles grazing tender flesh, and moving in soft pressure...

"M-hm.", she repeated, a breathy sigh on her lips, her teeth biting down on them. He stared at her face, as he inserted the tip of a finger, then, his thumb stroking in gentle circles above, and she shivered, grabbing his shoulders tightly and leaving a trail of desperate kisses at his neck. "Don't stop, Ron.", she pleaded, pushing against his palm, and he shuddered in anticipation.

"Wasn't planning on it."

They'd done this several times before, and Ron couldn't help but to feel awesome, every time he brought her over the edge that way. But never before had she seemed so longingly eager for each touch of his, so hopelessly devoted to him and his doing... It felt amazing, to be the one who did this to her, the only one, - the only one who ever would, if he had a say in it.

She whimpered then, her wetness clenching down around his knuckles, hard; once, twice, again and again, and he swore under his breath at the thought of being inside her, once more...

"Fuck, Hermione.."

"Ron..."

She sank against his chest, then, momentarily exhausted, but when he pulled her closer, she moved away again and stood up. He was about to protest, when he noticed her fingers tug at his jeans buttons. "Way too many layers.", she whispered, a look of concentration visible on her features, as she tore at his trousers and forcefully pulled them off of him. Ron grinned at her determination.

"Gosh, you're hot like this.", he murmured, and then she was right there again, pressing her thighs down to his, her purple clad breasts so close to his chest and her lips capturing his in a soaring kiss. Her fingers clang to his shoulders and upper arms, once again, stroking the muscles caused by his Auror-training, and his long fingers and rough palms reached for her waist to pull her deeper inside the embrace. His only conscious thought was the memory of the last time... About how hot and tight and wet she'd felt, while she had whispered her love for him in his ear...

* * *

Then, she felt his fingers open her bra, the purple material sliding down, on top of the scratchy green sheets. A jolt of fresh air had hit her chest, before Ron bent down to kiss the swell of her breasts. "So beautiful..", he murmured, in between licking and kneading and worshipping, and she tilted her head back to give him better access for this. But it wasn't enough, not even close, after feeling his thick, hard erection against the side of her thighs for so long, and so she reached down to gently stroke him through his boxer shorts. Ron hissed in pleasure.

"Fuck, yeah", he quietly growled, and Hermione couldn't help but to feel a wave of heat rush to her core at his words.

"Ron, I want you so much.", she sighed, breathlessly, because it was true and because she knew he loved to hear it, and then, she reached into his pants and actually touched his length with tender fingers. "I can't wait any longer, Ron, it's been months..."

"I know", he moaned, "I don't know how I ever survive a day without this, you feel incredible!"

His hands were all over her, his tousled red hair rimmed by edges of sweat, and when he shifted beneath her, she knew that he wanted to do more, but didn't want to lift her off of him, already. She snickered, and sat down by his side, to pull his boxers off of him.

The sight of him was making it hard to breathe properly, and when she reached for her own slip, he was faster. He pulled the purple fabric down her thighs, finding them completely soaked-through, and when he was done, he kept touching her legs, grazing their soft surface in adoration and shifting closer in to kiss her breasts, once more...

Before too long, she lay below him, limbs outstretched on top of the green covers for a second, before she wrapped a leg around his hips lightly and buried her fingernails in his ginger hair. It matched the colour of his stubble, and even of those other hairs, leading down from his belly button to his lap...

His tall body was slowly pressing down on her, heavenly in his nakedness, and when the tip of his erection touched her swollen opening, she almost screamed his name in pleasure. It was a good thing they always applied a silencing-spell, first.

* * *

She felt so perfectly, ridiculously hot and wet, and when he dipped down to sink himself slightly deeper inside of her, the pressure was so deliciously tight that he almost would have rammed into her right in that instant, hard and fast, again and again. But he wanted to go slow, knowing that it might hurt her, after such a long time and considering his size...

"Ron", she said then, voice steady, and he immediately looked up at her face, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a small smile. She was watching him with open interest, trying to figure his thoughts out, and reminding him of the girl he got to watch daily, for years, who always devoured books and every single word from a teacher's mouth (well, except Trelawney's, maybe, but that didn't really count), and who was now watching him with the same kind of interest that these things, or perhaps even S.P.E.W, caused in her. She was amazing, and she really wanted him alone, and maybe, it would always be like this...

"Ron?", she repeated, concern now visible in her confused, chocolate-coloured eyes, and he noticed how his own eyes were wet and his mouth dry.

"Shit. Sorry. I was just thinking."

She nodded, not even urging him on to tell her something he might not want to explain, and instead just stroking his jaw as he bent down to kiss her. "Merlin, how I love you.", he told her, and before she could reply, he was fully inside her, his thick, hard length sliding the rest of the way in and leaving her blissfully sighing in his ear. For a moment, he held still, but when she shuddered beneath him, he gently rocked in and out of her.

"Oh, Ron... Right, just like that! Ohh..."

"Hermione!", he growled, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer, because everything, from the amazing noises she was making to the way she wrapped her legs around his middle to pull him deeper into her, felt incredible.

"Harder, Ron! Please...", she whimpered, and the bed frame knocked against the wall, ever-so-slightly...

"Blimey, you feel so good...", he slurred, as she met his frantic movements in a steady, yet forceful rhythm. "So hot!"

Suddenly, he was laying on his back, though, Hermione's hands pressing down on the muscles in his chest, and she was riding him with all the energy she could muster. "I missed you so much, Ron", she panted, crushing down on him and burying his erection that much deeper in her core. "You have no idea how much I want you, really."

The image of her hair flying so messily around her head in her passion, the feeling of her wetness engulfing him... It didn't take long for him to come. Her walls clenched down on him, a second later, and together their rode out their climaxes, her breasts swaying in front of his eyes, whenever he looked away from her passionate features.

He moaned her name, feeling nothing but lust and love, and when it was over, he pulled her close, waiting for his heart to calm down.

"You know what?", he murmured, a few minutes later, as she was still lying on top of him and almost on the brink of sleep,

"I'm almost glad about that whole Rita-drama in fourth year."

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _Rereading this felt pretty embarrassing, to be honest. Well, once again, this is my first try with sexual writing, and I didn't expect it to turn **that** smutty right away... I hope it's not too extreme and still fluffy enough for you guys. :/_


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